


Excerpts from an Unpublishable Autobiography

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Diary/Journal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I've seen scholars assert with very little doubt—and often great amusement—that Erik and I were going at it like rabbits from the very beginning. I'm sorry to say that wasn't the case.</i>
</p><p>The very private courtship of the very public figures known as Professor Xavier and Magneto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excerpts from an Unpublishable Autobiography

_I've seen scholars, after studying what little exists of those days in 1962 in the way of photos and camera footage, assert with very little doubt—and often great amusement—that Erik and I were going at it like rabbits from the very beginning. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm afraid that wasn't the case. It took some little time for me to come to terms with what I felt—I'd always been a ladies' man, you know—and Erik… well, Erik hardly had the emotional acuity, at that time, to even know what he felt. It wasn't until the last night before Cuba that I gathered the nerve to make any sort of overture.  
—from the unpublished autobiography of Charles Xavier_

 

"One last chess game," they'd said, after the President's address, and the possibility hung heavy in the air that by this time tomorrow, one or both of them might be permanently unavailable for future games. Neither of them held back on the drinks, and that… in retrospect, that was probably quite helpful.

In any case, Charles had been thoroughly bested at chess, defeated less by Erik's superior skill than his superior focus, and they were about to part ways at the library door. And Charles couldn't bear it anymore, not for one second.

In a moment of breathless, freefalling terror and desperation and need, he rose up on his toes, grabbed Erik's shirt and kissed him. Briefly, softly, but with considerable spirit.

Erik stared at him. "What… what was that?"

The emotions spilling off his mind were too stunned and contradictory to read. Charles stammered. "Gesture of affection, my friend. Think nothing of it." After all, Erik was European, perhaps he wouldn't—

Erik stepped closer, crowding him against the doorframe, and Charles couldn't breathe through the hope and disbelief clogging his throat as their gazes locked. "And what if I want to think something of it?"

"Like what, precisely?" Charles whispered, feeling the warmth of Erik's chest brushing his like an ache throughout his entire body. He kept his hands clenched at his sides, afraid of what they might do, left uncontrolled.

Erik brushed his fingertips against Charles's cheek, unbearably gentle and shy, his thumb drifting down to trace the edge of Charles's lower lip. Charles let out a shaky breath, turning into the touch.

Thus encouraged, Erik leaned forward—too uncertain still to initiate a kiss, only brushing his nose against Charles's cheek, foreheads touching, and Charles wanted to laugh because how could that make his body tingle all over in a way nothing and no one else ever had?

He pulled Erik down into another kiss—and this one was not brief, it lingered and lingered, slow and warm and deep. Charles let his hands wander, as they had longed to do for some time now, over the muscles of Erik's chest and back and shoulders, finally wrapping his arms around Erik's neck to pull him closer, closer. Erik stayed largely still, hands splayed across Charles's back, as if just holding on to keep himself from drowning. Charles would have stopped, concerned, except that he could feel beyond doubt how much Erik wanted him to keep going, his mind white-hot and glowing.

"Some of the others are still awake," Charles whispered at length, trying to catch his breath. "We should get out of the hallway."

Erik nodded, not opening his eyes.

"Would," Charles swallowed, "would you like to come to my room?"

Erik nodded again, and they made it all the way to the bedroom without ever letting go of each other entirely.

 

_Even then we had sex only in the strictest sense of the term, being so deeply occupied with kissing and touching and holding each other that the rest was almost an afterthought._

_~~(Dear heaven, I really cannot ever publish this.)~~ _

_It was terrible coming back to that room, later—much later, once I was out of the hospital. All just as we'd left it, of course. I had almost everything in the room burned or thrown out._

_It was over a decade before Erik and I had any further contact. I'll give the scholars this much credit—we didn't waste time then._

__

The airplane bathroom was roomier and more comfortable than many—there were distinct advantages to having a private jet—but it still hadn't been designed for… well, for the activities currently taking place therein.

"Stop that," Charles growled, yanking at Erik's buttons and not caring at all if they snapped off.

"Stop what?" Erik had already gotten Charles's shirt off before lifting him onto the sink, and was now mouthing at his shoulder, hands running restlessly over his skin.

 _"Stop that,"_ Charles said again, but the words came out on a sort of keening noise as he arched into the teeth digging into his throat.

"Stop what? Use your words, Charles, since you don't have anything else now."

Charles slapped him hard on the shoulder, but his legs were already tightening around Erik's waist, pulling him in closer. "Stop being a jackass," he snapped—it would be a long time before he could articulate to himself what he'd meant, something closer to Stop touching me like you still love me.

"Not possible, I'm afraid," Erik chuckled, rueful, and changed his aim to Charles's mouth—which was worse, much worse, overwhelmingly dizzyingly good when neither of them had been touched in more or less a decade. Charles bit hard at Erik's lips, dug nails into his back, and Erik took the punishment unquestioningly—maybe because he knew he deserved it, maybe because in his life nothing had ever come without pain anyway.

Charles felt guilty about it later. In the hotel room in Paris, he tried to kiss away every mark he'd left, mouthing words against Erik's skin that he could never say aloud, that neither of them ever would. As a kindness, they both pretended not to notice the other's tears.

__

_So often we met only by circumstance, and those circumstances inevitably colored everything between us with conflict and hurt. But I hoped—I based everything I did on the hope—that eventually we would truly join forces, join lives, as we had proven we could in another lifetime._

_And I'm skipping ahead rather a lot, but this seems a good time to note that I was, in fact, correct. I'm sure anyone reading this (hopefully be no one, which makes writing it quite the waste of time, but still) will already know that Erik Lehnsherr and I married eventually, though it was several years before we had the nerve to announce the happy event. It was our secret, like a hidden room we could visit together, leaving everything unpleasant at the door._

__

They spent their honeymoon at a seaside cabin that was probably a Brotherhood safe house; Charles chose not to ask questions he didn't want the answers to. When they arrived, exhausted by travel and stress, they did little more than collapse into the bed, curl up in each other's arms, and sleep. It wasn't until morning, when Charles awoke with Erik's breath tickling his chest, that he had the chance to let the enormity of what they'd done soak in.

Erik was so beautiful, the swift equatorial dawn picking out notes of silver in his hair. His face was at rest as it so seldom was, and all the scars crisscrossing his arms and chest looked unusually faded—as if today, just today, they could be ignored instead of poked at, torn open all over again for the cause.

Charles could not restrain himself from touching, but Erik didn't seem to mind, drifting awake with a sleepy smile and turning to kiss the fingertips skimming his cheek. Other touches followed, building on each other—hands and mouths tracing paths across skin, until they were both thoroughly awake, gasping and trembling in each other's arms, and it felt… different, somehow. Charles hadn't expected being married to matter, not when it came to this, but it did feel different. As if this moment was the first between them that wasn't stolen and uncertain, but rightfully theirs, bought and paid for.

For the first time in a very long time, Charles could feel no trace of anger in Erik's mind, no thought of pain. He _glowed,_ certain and safe in his love for Charles, both of them incandescent and invincible in the morning light.

__

_Honeymoons don't last, of course, by their very nature. The ills of the world and of our own imperfections inevitably reared their heads again. But we had finally, finally, finally learned the One Great Truth of our lives—that we were stronger together than apart. And for good or ill, neither of us has ever willingly given up anything that made us stronger._

_By which I mean, dear nonexistent reader, that to date, at least, and entirely against all expectations (including our own), we have lived loudly, messily, cantankerously, and very happily ever after. A most unusual fairytale—but don't ever tell Erik I said that, or we'll never leave off arguing over who is the damsel in distress._

_(I would probably do better to burn this entire unpublishable mess, but I know I won't. It will sit among my papers like a time bomb and shock some unsuspecting descendant someday. Ah well, it will be good for them—build character, as Erik would say. I hope you appreciate the favor, dear reader. Cheerio.)_


End file.
